


Better Left Unsaid

by 8apphire (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Power Imbalance, Unsafe Sex, huge age gap, like a grandpa almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/8apphire
Summary: Fuck I’m so bad at summaries sometimes. Power imbalance smut featuring a tiny girl, an older man and a daddy kink. Not much else to be said





	Better Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Okay here goes it. I was feeling crappy in how fucked up my mind could be so I figured I would indulge in it. The result is a smut fic that’s kinda a vent diary entry. It means a lot if you read, comment, or kudos. Thanks!
> 
> **also please try to practice safe sex, this is a work of fiction where a condom is not used. Please use on in real life**

So I’ve known this guy for a while, about two years since I’ve been working at the barn. He’s a real sweet heart, very helpful and kind, always goes out of his way to give me a hand.  
I’ve had guys hit on me at the barn before. There was Jorge, a guy who’s about thirty who started hugging me every time he saw me starting around the holidays, but it began to get annoying because like, imagine every time you see your co-worker he hugs you. I thought he was like that with everyone until one day he came to me and held my shoulders and told me that “I was so nice to him and made him so happy, and that I was the only one that was good for him.” He proceeded to give me a leather bracelet and a heart locket on a silver chain. So I kinda freaked, told him how old I was (a fucking baby let me tell you) and had my boss move me to a different position. He’s still nice, just not physical any more.  
Still, I try not to assume a guy is hitting on my if they are just being nice. Friends of mine have told me that I lead guys on or am bitchy for doing this, but I guess I just turn a blind eye in order to avoid being the girl that thinks everyone is into her.  
But back to the guy from the beginning, who has always been sweet to me. Burt is definitely an interesting character. An older man (maybe 65? Keep in mind Jorge (30) was much too old for me) Maybe just 4 inches taller than me Burt acts as the handyman around the barn, so I see him every day, talk to him in the mornings when I spot him in his white pickup truck. He always wears mostly black, including beat up black cowboy boots.  
I don’t even know what we talk about most days. Barn gossip, a new horse? He’s sort of a grandfather/father sort of figure when I see him. He looks out for me. I suppose I trust him.  
A few days ago I ended up wearing all black to the barn, similarly to how Burt dresses most days. I was bathing a horse when he rolled up in his familiar white pickup and opened his window to talk to me, “Wearing all black today?” He asked. I hummed, “Yeah I guess so, didn’t even notice this morning,” I said in response. He smiled, “ah a girl after my own heart, wearin all black like that. If only you were fifty years younger we coulda worked out...” he fiddled with something in his car as he said it, but kept eye contact. “I’ll see you later miss V, let me know how it goes,” he said before rolling up his window and driving away. So yeah, it was a weird comment. I brush it off and keep washing the horse, trying to focus on the task at hand. Probably just regular Burt weirdness and jokes. Yeah.  
The day after I was walking a horse back to the fields when he suddenly cut around the corner of the stables and joined me in my walk. “Say, you’ve gotta let me take a picture of your hair some day so that I can show everyone how beautiful it is- you really should never cut it I’ve never seen hair like it” he said. I tilted my head, one hand coming up to touch my curly hair, as if yo make sure what he was talking about was real. “Sure, I guess you can have a photo if you want,” I responded, looking back to him. “I gotta go, but make sure my veronica stays hydrated in this heat!” He tossed me a water bottle, which I almost dropped from surprise. Why would he want a picture of me.  
So weird.  
Or not.  
Maybe he talked about my hair? Lots of people talk about my hair though. Maybe I liked him talking about my hair, noticing me, praising me. And this is where my thoughts get kinda fucked up.  
My friends and co-workers always have me go to him for things because they know he always says yes for me.  
I’m one of the only people who consistently goes to talk to him, and I’m the only one he consistently seeks out.  
I’m so fucked. Fucked in the head and all that shit.  
He’s a man, at least 50 years older than me, who’s almost like my grandfather, could be my grandfather even! And this is what I imagine happening:

He would ask me to come check out something with him in the big house, ask me to help lift something with him. I suppose we would work the rest of the day, carrying the ply boards wherever they need to go. He would offer me a drink when we finished. Of course he has a flask of whiskey in his glove box. I mix some in with my Gatorade. It tastes pretty bad, but we drink it anyways. We complain about people at the barn.  
He takes me upstairs shows me around the abandoned place, leans close to whisper stories in my ear. He leans too close, our lips brush. He tastes like whiskey with a hit of the weed he smokes. I can taste myself too, blue Gatorade sweet on his tongue. He shifts back on to the dusty, overstuffed couch that probably hasn’t been sat on in a decade. Calloused hands pull me back my lower back into his lap. He’s thinner than he looks in his bag black clothes. I press my face into the crook of his neck and thread my hands though his still think golden hair. His skin is soft, wrinkled. Smells like smoke, the sweet familiar scent of weed fills my nose. He takes off his glasses with one hand, other firmly pushing on my lower back. I can see his wet blue eyes, wrinkled around the edges.  
I shift on his lap, feel his hardening cock press up from under me. I moan, quietly, softly. He pushes me back, slides my shirt off over my head, and unclasps my bra, sliding it off my sticky flesh. I swear I hear him growl, his hands, a soft dry sensation in contrast to my skin sticky from sweat. He grasps my boobs, thumbs grubbing up over my hardening nipples. He leans his head down to suck one into his mouth, I rest my chin on his lowered head, already wet in my panties. He switches to the other one, but keeps a hand playing with the first, ever so gentle.  
I think I this point I start crying through my moans. I pull back, reach up to pull the rubber band out of my hair. As it falls back down around my shoulders Burt unzips his back jeans. He lifts me up slightly, sends his jeans and boxers down his thighs to pool at his ankles. I slide off my own pants, now sitting bare on his thighs. I’m so wet, pushing forward on one of his legs, spreading my juices.  
“Come here baby girl, good girl,” he says brings me closer, pushes my cunt against his hard cock.  
“My Veronica is such a good girl for me,” he keeps praising me as I rut against him, tears still falling down my face. He reaches forward to slip a thick finger inside of me. It’s much thicker and rougher than my own.  
I can’t breathe for a moment when he lifts me to sit on his cock. I nudge my face back into the crook of his neck, trying to envelop myself in the smell.  
“Such a good girl for daddy” he says as he shifts inside of me. The tears fall freely now, he shifts me onto my back, slides his cock in and out of me, slowly before speeding up.  
“Daddy” I cry, broken through my tears. I clench around him, and he flips me over again so I can rest my head on his chest. I’m sobbing by this point, quiet “daddy”s shaking me as he thrusts into me faster now.  
Things like “Good job babygirl,” “so good for daddy” and quiet moans can also be heard in the room, though I pay them no heed. I am so full, stretched tight around his cock when he bottoms out and comes inside of me. I squirt a bit too, still crying softly into the crook of his neck as we come down from our orgasms.  
I think he moves first, pulling out of me gently, laying me out on the dirty couch and rising to get a washcloth. He comes back and wipes the come off from my legs and cunt. Places a kiss on top. I shudder, and he helps me back into my clothes. It’s silent save for our breathing. The both of us are sticky and smell like sex when he lifts me into his car. We sit in the back seat with the ac blowing. I snuggle into his chest, humming softly. I think he begins to stroll my hair, fingers occasionally brushing along my cheek.  
The next day I go to work I shy away. I don’t know if anyone notices we aren’t talking. The second day of this I have to talk to him, ask him to fix one of the fences. He responds without making eye contact, “I’ll get it done today, anything for my baby girl.” He realizes his mistake too late, his eyes meet mine again, soft, sad looking.  
“I’m sorry,” he says.  
I avert my eyes, “it’s alright daddy” I suppose both of us slipped up.  
I don’t know exactly what happened but I find myself back in his arms, enjoying his scent as he slips his hand into the front of my pants. A finger slides into my opening and my knees nearly buckle. I press my face into the crook of his neck and moan softly, whimpering “daddy” quietly. He continues to finger fuck me, adding another digit,  
“good girl for daddy.” He slides his fingers out suddenly, and offers them to me so I lick them clean.  
“Are, are you okay?” He asks, making eye contact now.  
“Yes, yeah, I’ll um, see you later dadd- Burt”. He nods and walks away.  
We most seem closer in the following weeks. I guess people notice when I walk close enough to him to touch, when he rests a hand on my shoulder, when I’m seen in his car, or even when I’m scented later, reeking softly of marijuana, whisky, and summer sex.  
A friend of mine asks me on day, “is everything okay in your life? With Burt? You two have been acting weird lately.” I shrug, pull a kellyanne conway and redirect the conversation without answering the question. Some things are better left unsaid.

**Author's Note:**

> That was my first time writing smut on my own, so I hope it was okay. I would love constructive criticism or any comments and kudos. Thanks so so much!


End file.
